


Wounded Birds

by slashsailing



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Movie Reference, Prostitution, Sexual Content, True Romance AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1232395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashsailing/pseuds/slashsailing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of the beginning of True Romance.</p><p>Leonard goes to a movie theatre to celebrate his birthday and meets the bubbly, if not slightly forward, Jim Kirk. From there his night only gets better - but can their liaison make it through to the morning or will Jim's occupation stand in the way of their true romance?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wounded Birds

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from one of the songs from the OST called 'Wounded Birds' by Charlie and Eddie. 
> 
> Previously posted on tumblr. Enjoy!

Jim Kirk had to come all the way from the highways and byways of Riverside, Iowa to the Frisco to find his true love. And even if you’d have given the kid a million years to ponder it, he never would’ve guessed that true romance and him could, or would, ever go hand in hand. And even now, now that he has all the facts and the events that led up to his true romance and the events that followed have happened; it still all seems a little like a distant dream. Like a husk of smoke in a back alley bar somewhere.

But the dream was real and wasn’t all that distant. One thing’s for certain though and that’s that Jim Kirk’s life has changed forever because of it.

Sometimes he asks Leonard how the world can seem to be collapsing around them with things just getting shittier and shittier; he scoffs, of course, but isn’t reluctant in saying, “that’s the way it goes, Jim, but don’t forget, it goes the other way too.” That’s the way romance is, Jim thinks: usually, that’s the way it goes, but, every once in a while, it goes the other way too. 

 

#

The bar is pervaded by lines of thick white-grey wisps, dimming the light from neon bar-sign hung over the shelf that houses the good spirits; it makes him  _wish_  he had a cigarette perched between two fingers. It’s more for that fact that, he figures, at least, the smoke inhalation might be considered worthwhile if he were also getting the benefit of a nicotine high. But the cigarette’s lacing the bar’s air with an ashen taste aren’t his; he’s just about able to afford another shitty bottle of beer – eyeing the top shelf, the bottle of Jim Beam and sighing, once again, at his misfortunes.

 _He_  is man named Leonard McCoy. He’s nothing altogether very special, just another recent divorcee with a tragic backstory and nothing set in place for the future. He’s a doctor though, which makes the fleeting consideration to bum a cigarette off the old guy in the corner take on somewhat of an ironic twist. This isn’t estate satire though, not yet at least. This is a man in a bar drowning his sorrows because his wife left him for a man that paid her more attention and hung around long enough after making her come that she actually felt wanted for once. 

Leonard never wanted to marry her anyway. He wanted to be a good boy, a good man. Marriage was an unfortunate sub-clause; he did love Jocelyn, of course he did. Beautiful, she was, the incessant screaming tainted that image of her slightly. But she  _was_  beautiful. He’s sure of it. But he doesn’t love her anymore, their puppy-love has been tainted by age and experience, they’ve grown apart; it’s all the usual clichés, just like her golden hair and her sapphire blue eyes. They were red-rimmed the day of the divorce, he saw her across the steps going up to the courthouse, her new boyfriend holding her hand supportively.

And now here he is. In California, cruising the Castro because he’s drunk on cheap beer and it’s been nearly nine years since he’s been with another man. This certainly isn’t small town, Georgia, like he’s used too. But bars are generic. It’s almost like the smoke in this bar has followed him up from his own seedy local – haunting, taunting. He can run but he can’t hide, or something like that. The past will always be there, perched and ready to bite him on the ass.

The CD changes in the jukebox and Elvis mingles with the smoke. Leonard gives out a tired chuckle, like the entire world is just out to play a really sick joke on him. In the grand scheme of things Elvis doesn’t mean anything. But right now - when he doesn’t have enough money to buy a single shot of Bourbon, when he’s got no wife, no family to speak of, nothing – Elvis becomes a profound icon of what might have been. Elvis is the forever  _could have, would have, should have_  shit, for the honourable hillbilly he should have just let himself become.

Leonard smirks again. He’s far too simple a man to have ever been able to manage becoming an oxymoron.

He drains the rest of his beer and lays his forehead on the bar; the smooth veneer of the mahogany is cool against his skin.

“Go home,” the bartender instructs lightly, “your heart ain’t in this.”

 #

The cinema is practically empty. He’s sitting a couple rows back from the front, popcorn carton empty beside him, acting as a makeshift trashcan for the other wrappings he’s worked his way through during this extended viewing of the first three Die Hard movies back to back. It’s about fifteen minutes into the third movie; must be about ten o’clock now, just as dark outside as it is inside the cinema. Not as cold though, the aircon in the movie theatre really is unreal; is it an active attempt to induce hypothermia in their patrons or have the owners just decided that they wouldn’t want to deal with the potential stench of sweat if people were allowed to get their temperature up above freezing?

A stream of light floods in from the back and Leonard looks round. Why bother coming in  _now_? It seems pointless. He huffs, frowning confusedly before turning back around to watch John McClane strut around Harlem with a racist sandwich board tacked to his half-naked body. It’s not a bad body either, Leonard considers.

And then there’s another not-bad-body standing at the end of the aisle, looking at Leonard with an easy smile, popcorn curled into his chest, sans drink. Leonard looks at the guy for a moment; takes in the sight of a tight black t-shirt that’s so thin it might as well be see-through for all the good it’s doing, and grey jeans that are faded and cling to the kid’s thighs like mud on a dog’s fur. But then the guy must decide against sitting alongside Leonard and makes the journey back to park himself in the chair behind Leonard.

Not before he can throw his popcorn all over Leonard, though,  _of course_.

“Oh, shit,” he hisses apologetically, not sounding remotely Californian, “look what happened,” he continues, and Leonard gets the distinct impression that he’s feigning innocence.

The kid is suddenly leaning over the chair to brush popcorn off of Leonard’s shoulders and his chest and his  _crotch_ , frantically repeating apologies – hurried breaths tickling over Leonard’s neck.

“Hey, kid, it’s fine,” Leonard huffs, brushing himself off, causing the guy to pull back his own hands.

“I’m so sorry,” he says again, “I’m the clumsiest person in the world, I just- God, I’m so stupid.”

“Hey,” Leonard frowns, laying a reassuring hand over the guys forearm, “it’s fine, really, no harm no foul.”

“Well thanks,” he continues earnestly, paying no mind to keeping quiet for the sake of the other patrons; “it’s good of you to be such a nice guy about it, especially when you could have been a complete asshole.”

The guy runs a hand through Leonard’s hair, ruffling his bangs; Leonard assumes it’s to get rid of the last of the crumbs but he’s not all that sure because the guy is looking at him with these pretty blue eyes and a dirty smile before he lights up a cigarette.

“Jim Kirk,” he whispers, leaning on the back of the seat beside Leonards.

Leonard offers him a side glance and a smile, noting the addition of kohl liner to his bottom water-line, “McCoy,” he whispers back, “Leonard McCoy.”

“You mind if I smoke?” Jim asks, flicking his cigarette in the opposite direction, so it bleeds smoke away from Leonard.

“No,” Leonard shakes his head, “s’no good for you though.”

“I do a lot of stuff that’s no good for me,” Jim admits, “you wanna fill me in on what I’ve missed?”

“A lot,” is all Leonard says with a smirk, before his eyes go wide at the sight of Jim clambering over the line of chairs to sit next to Leonard. He sits too close and his thigh is hot against Leonard’s own and he can’t think about the plot to tell Jim about it so he just stares for a few seconds more and scoffs.

They spend the rest of the film chatting about anything other than the film, they talk about food they like, about Georgia summers and storms in Iowa, they talk about Jim’s choice of attire and the softness of Leonard’s sweatshirt, which he ends up taking off and wrapping around Jim’s shoulders to stop the kid’s teeth from chattering. There are lulls in the babble; rare moments of silence where Jim rubs his should against Leonard’s as if he’s trying to get comfortable.

“I usually go for pizza after a good movie,” Jim whispers when the credits start to roll, “it’d be nice to not have to go alone, you like pizza?” he wonders.

“I like pizza,” Leonard nods.

“Would you like to get pizza with me?” he prompts, grinning at Leonard.

“Yeah,” Leonard nods again, “yeah I would.”

 #

The small joint on the corner of the street is just as hazy as the bars Leonard’s been frequenting, but he doesn’t say as much to Jim. Instead he lets Jim order whatever he wants, and ends up with a chocolate milkshake with two straws and an extra-large margarita between the two of them. Jim smirks in response to Leonard’s raised eyebrow and just starts to tear at the edge of one slice.

“Got so many allergies,” he admits, “this is just easier.”

“An’ the chocolate?” Leonard wonders.

“To sweeten you up,” Jim replies lightly, knocking his foot against Leonard’s under the table.

“An’ we’re sharing?” he asks.

“Uh huh,” Jim nods, “Didn’t wanna take liberties, with you paying for it and all,” he smirks, knowing that Leonard would have been happy enough for Jim to buy two more manageable sized pizzas and two milkshakes.

“You’re really somethin’,” Leonard shakes his head, but he’s smiling and he can feel the blush race over his neck, no doubt turning his throat the colour of tomatoes.

“Uh huh,” Jim agrees, pulling his teeth over his lower lip as he grins, nodding emphatically.

“’m just not sure what yet,” Leonard continues, “I wanna know more ‘bout ‘cha, Jim.”

“What’d you wanna know?” he asks.

“Where’re you from?”

“Iowa.”

“Who’s your favourite movie star?”

“James Dean.”

“Rebel Without Cause, huh?”

“Yeah, I preferred Giant though,” he considers.

“Not a huge amount a films to choose from,” Leonard notes.

“He made three movies and here we are still talking about him fifty years after he died, I think that makes him quite the star,” Jim says.

“I guess you’re right,” Leonard nods, smiling. “Okay, what about your favourite colour?”

“Yellow,” Jim says easily.

“Like the sun?” Leonard wonders.

“Yeah, and no,” Jim says airily, deliberately enigmatic, “that’s what I like about yellow, it’s versatile, you can find it everywhere.”

“Isn’t that the same for all colours?” Leonard counters.

“Not like yellow,” Jim shakes his head.

“Why me?”

“Why you what?” Jim asks.

“Why sit next to me?” Leonard clarifies, “in a whole theatre room, why the chair behind me?”

“Your lap looked the best place to dump my popcorn,” Jim says with a slightly embarrassed smile, pink pricking at his cheeks. Leonard laughs, and holds his hand out for Jim who acquiesces easily.

“I got one more question,” Leonard says.

“Shoot,” Jim prompts, fixing the man with an easy gaze, open and ready for anything.

“You got a guy?”

“Like, as in a boyfriend?” Jim wonders continuing only when Leonard nods, “ask me again later,” he whispers, leading Leonard out of the pizza parlour and off down the street.

“Where to now?” Leonard wonders.

“I know a bar,” Jim suggests, “it’s quiet, good music.”

“Okay,” Leonard nods.

 #

They only have one drink before Jim drags Leonard out to the middle of the empty dance-floor to slow-dance to Wounded Bird, arms thrown loosely over his shoulders, Jim smiling at Leonard, eyes repeatedly flicking down to Leonard’s mouth.

Their first press of lips is soft, but there is something dirty too it that belies Jim’s experience, belies the risqué touch that’s been haunting Leonard all night. There is something undeniably sexy about Jim, about his easy sexuality and the sensual sway of his hips. And maybe it’s heightened by the slightly coy, slightly clumsy edge to everything he says or does. There is something so very boy-next-door about Jim’s look that his obvious desire for Leonard to take him home and fuck him is somehow made just that more intense.

He obliges Jim like he has done all night. And Jim gasps and hums under his lips and the breadth of his hands. He writhes and trembles as Leonard moves inside him, with his tongue first, then fingers, then cock. He lets Leonard make love to him, all the while giving the distinct impression that he’s never been made love to before in his whole life, and hey, maybe he hasn’t. Leonard can believe that; because he was married for four years and he’s never kisses another person the way he’s kissing Jim, never had someone touch him as reverently as Jim is doing now.

When they’re done, and they can just lie together in the stillness of Leonard’s apartment Jim twines his fingers with his and calls him Bones for the first time.

Just the word, just once, but Leonard knows it’s for him; he wonders at it, but doesn’t ask, just pulls Jim tighter into his arms and kisses along the freckles of his right shoulder.

 #

When Leonard wakes up the bed is empty and the room is freezing, a sweater that he left on the back of his desk chair is gone and the window is open. It’s confusing for a millisecond before he remembers the feel of Jim’s skin against his and the sound Jim’s laugh reverberates through his head, coaxing a smile onto his sleep-worn face. He’s naked still, and therefore begrudges having to slip sweatpants on to climb out onto the fire escape and go in search of the other man: who he finds smoking and crying, shaking in nothing but Leonard’s sweatshirt and a pair of boxer-briefs.  

“Why’re you cryin’?” Leonard asks softly, throwing himself down beside Jim and slinking an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into the heat of Bones’ chest. A heat which is, granted, rapidly fleeing, but nevertheless he continues to hold Jim, continues on instinct. “Did I do somethin’?” Leonard wonders.

“No, Bones,” Jim shakes his head, “you didn’t do anything, it’s me, there’s something I’ve gotta tell you.” Leonard waits, he's still confused over the nickname but it doesn't feel right to ask yet. Instead, he kisses Jim’s temple to encourage him to continue. “I didn’t just happen to be at that theatre,” he admits, “I was paid to be there.”

Leonard pulls back slowly, curling his torso to be able to look at Jim face to face. “Paid, come on Jim, what’re ya, a theatre checker?” he scoffs, “you get paid to check up on the box officer girls, make sure the guy that man’s the film isn’t sneakin’ popcorn from the customers?” he chuckles.

“I’m not a theatre checker,” Jim says, weak-sounding, irritated and frustrated too, mildly ashamed. “I’m a call girl,” he snorts at his own phrasing, “a rent  _boy_ ,” he amends, throwing his cigarette away.

Leonard blinks, “a hooker?” he murmurs, a half-question that doesn’t need an answer but Jim’s up like a shot.

 “No,” he huffs, “a call girl, it’s different,” he says petulantly. He starts pacing the landing of the fire-escape, “okay, so here it goes,” he mutters, more to himself than Leonard. “You work at the hospital, right? Just started.”

“Yeah,” Leonard nods.

“Well this nice nurse called, said you were a good guy, that you deserved to get laid, she said you were married but that she’d seen you in the Castro-”

“Christine,” Leonard says gently.

“Yeah,” Jim nods, “that was her, she ordered a guy for you. I’m the guy. She knew you were gonna be in that theatre ‘cause you told her so, she wanted to me to act like I just walked in off the street.”

“Beats standing on street corners I guess,” Leonard huffs resignedly, it was intended to be spiteful and cutting but he’s to deflated, too disappointed to really hurt Jim.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Jim chides heatedly.

“Sorry,” Leonard offers.

“How can you be so calm about this, don’t be so fucking calm,” Jim orders. “How can you not be mad?”

“Jim,” Leonard says softly, “that was, what happened tonight, this morning,  _back there,_ it was, it was one of the best times of my life, I- but, what you do with your life ain’t any ‘a my business.”

“There’s a note on your TV, did you know that?” he demands, “an’ all I got was ‘Dear Bones’, because I couldn’t write anymore, because I couldn’t be a coward after you were so good to me, and so I said to myself: Jim, you just gotta pull on your shirt and act like an adult and come clean, and if he tells you to fuck off back to Nero then you just gotta fuck off back to Nero and-”

“Nero?” Leonard questions.

“Would you shut up?” Jim shouts, “I’m trying to be honest, Bones,” he urges, “I’ve been a rent boy for exactly _four_ days, you’re my third customer; I came here to get a job in the air force; there was a guy, he was supposed to get me a job but it all fell through and so now here I am. But I’m _not_ damaged goods, I’m not a  _whore;_  I won’t get on my knees for a buck on some street corner. I’m a really good person,” Jim says, seemingly trying to convince himself more than Leonard, tears welling up in his eyes again, “and I suck at this relationship shit but went I commit to one I _commit_ , you know, I’m one-hundred percent monogamous,” he promises, sitting back down next to Leonard, breathing hard.

“You’d stay with one guy?”

“I haven’t, before,” Jim admits, “never ever had anyone to stay with, but I would, if I’m with you then I’m with you and I don’t want anybody else.”

Leonard exhales a shaky breath and meets Jim’s gaze.

“But I have to ask you a question,” Jim starts up again before Leonard can say a word, “when you said it had been one of your best times, did you mean physically?”

“Well yeah, that too, but, but everything Jim, you threw your damn popcorn all over me and ruined the end of the movie but I’ve never... I’ve never met anyone like you,” Leonard says, taking Jim’s hand in his. “I’ve never had as much fun with a guy as I’ve had with you in my whole entire life,” Leonard whispers, and Jim lets out a shaky, still teary laugh.

“Bones,” he says and Leonard looks to him, “I feel really stupid saying this after only knowing you one night, and me being a hooker and all,” he sighs and Leonard squeezes his hand, “but I think I love you.”

He stands slowly, and his skinny, unclothes legs shake slightly, like the legs of a new-born foal. Leonard can see how the hairs on his thighs are raised from the cold, it looks like Jim is going to walk away, even though he wouldn’t get too far just clad in boxer-briefs and one of Leonard’s favourite jumpers.

“Wait a minute,” Leonard says, shaking his head, “look, I’m gonna try an’ keep this whole thing in perspective; I got divorced not even a month ago, you know, came here for a fresh start, but you just said you love me, an’ if I say I love you an’ just throw caution a’ the wind and let the chips fall where they may an’ you’re lyin’ a’ me then I’m’a damn well die,” he huffs, accent thick and muddy with emotion.

“I’m not lying to you,” Jim swears, “and I promise that I won’t ever lie to you again.”

Leonard offers a few slow, awe-filled nods of the head, a smile spreading over his mouth, cheeks dimpling.

“Okay,” he says, pressing his lips to the side of Jim’s, and then to his forehead, “okay.” 


End file.
